


At War With Love

by kissesfromkrug



Series: Just A Young Gun (With A Quick Fuse) [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Getting Together, Kisses, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfromkrug/pseuds/kissesfromkrug
Summary: "A, B, and C go out for a night of fun. B has the biggest crush on A but doesn't have the guts to admit it. Someone starts hitting on A, and A is obviously uncomfortable. C tries to convince B to pretend to be their boyfriend, but B is too nervous, so C goes and saves him from the creepy flirt and B is uncharacteristically grumpy for the rest of the night."





	At War With Love

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit, fictional; feel free to point out any typos. :)
> 
> Phew, that was a long prompt...I won't follow it word for word though. I have a continuation in mind...
> 
> Not nearly as dramatic as the title suggests (it's from "Battle Scars" by Lupe Fiasco - such a depressing song, I think), but I could make this angsty. Or not. You never know.
> 
> I also don't know when or how the bibbity bobbity fuck this is taking place, so excuse the lack of a timeline.

"Let him be," Mitch waves, focusing on the tv as Dylan watched Connor start up a conversation with a guy next to him.

"Why isn't he sitting with us?" Dylan asks.

"If he was around you all the time he'd go insane. Surprised I'm not yet."

"Oh, fuck you," Dylan scowls, "You're too fucking insane for it to have an effect on you, anyway." Mitch just kicks him in the ankle and says,

"Dude, just let him escape his bubble for once. It'll be good for him." Dylan only sighs and stares at Connor's face as he talks, his throat as he takes a sip of his margarita, his hair as he brushes it aside to listen.

Dylan knows what Connor looks like in a suit and tie, hair gelled and styled for probably 20 minutes. He sees photos online all the time of Connor before and after games or practices, or at team meetings, or press conferences. He's professional and clipped, and doesn't show too much of his personal feelings. Not to mention awkward.

However, Dylan also knows what Connor looks like lazing around the house, wearing old sweats and a t-shirt of Dylan's with a hole in the side of it. Connor cuddling up to him on the couch while watching Netflix and ranting to Dylan excitedly about some new organic drink he tried at the local market.

But Dylan hardly ever gets to see the Connor in between those polar opposites, especially since he hardly gets to see his best friend. Now, he's got a pair of black skinny jeans and a plain white t-shirt on, Blue Jays baseball cap on frontwards (though Dylan isn't sure how long that'll last). He looks rather comfortable, but hasn't really let down his guard. The other guy talking to Connor seems to be charming - fuck that - and Dylan clenches a fist as Connor laughs.

He knows Connor's gay, since he never actually bothered to hide it in front of Dylan (he remembers the wild night Connor made out with an even drunker Taylor Raddysh at a post playoff-win party, then went home with Dylan and gave him a 30 minute explanation with tears and slurred words) - but he never usually flirts in public. Dylan tells himself that he's more worried about Connor's rep than his own desires, but his heart is having a hard time believing that.

"Dude, you good?" Mitch says, rapping his knuckles on the side of Dylan's head. "Anyone home?"

"Stop it - stop, ugh, _what_?" Dylan says in exasperation, keeping tabs on Connor from the corner of his eye.

"You need another drink? Looking a bit uptight there, bud." Dylan sends him a look and Mitch laughs and orders shots of tequila. Bless Canada for their drinking age.

"God, I needed this," Dylan murmurs, downing it almost instantly and relishing in the slight burn as the alcohol slides down his throat.

"I don't get a thank you?" Dylan just flips him off, and Mitch huffs like a child being denied dessert. "Rude. See what happens the next time you want me to do something for you."

"Won't happen," Dylan says easily. "Don't need anything from you, I'm more than capable." He casts a glance back at Connor, whose smile has faded, body curling in on itself as he tries to avoid the gaze of someone else who took a seat next to him. Oh no.

"Why am I always second to Davo?" Mitch whines, throwing back his head and swallowing his tequila. Dylan hates himself for paying attention.

"Everyone is second to Davo in everything."

"Obviously not flirting," Mitch says, gesturing to a clearly uncomfortable Connor. The guy next to him is not nearly as charming as the other one, leaning in close and setting a hand on his back. Connor flinches, and Mitch huffs. "That's it."

Dylan expects Mitch to go over and give the stranger a piece of his mind, but instead he finds himself on his feet. "What the-"

"Pretend to be his boyfriend so that creepy guy will go away," Mitch says, shoving Dylan a few more feet away. Dylan's eyes widen, and he looks back and shakes his head. "C'mon, it'll just be for a sec. Your staring is getting weird, dude."

"No, that's stupid." It's not stupid. It's worked in the past, he knows from experience. One time, he did this exact thing with a girl at a club similar to this, saving her from a guy just as creepy as Connor's. She made sure to thank him when the guy left, so it definitely does work, except-

This is Connor.

"Dude, it's fine, just go over there and-" Mitch starts, but Dylan shakes his head and slides back onto the barstool.

"No. I'm not doing it. If you think it's such a fun idea, you can go do it yourself. I'm not touching that idea with a nine foot pole." Mitch rolls his eyes and takes another shot before going over to Connor and slinging an arm around his shoulders.

Dylan can't tell what words are being said, but he definitely sees when Mitch presses a soft kiss to Connor's cheek and murmurs something in his ear as the guy grudgingly gets up. Dylan swallows hard, the sting of alcohol-tasting bile rising in the back of his throat. Even so, he takes his second shot without looking away from the scene that should've included him.

He immediately moves to stare at a scratch on the counter in front of him as Mitch supports Connor back to their side of the bar, arm now looping around Connor's waist. Fuck, he wishes that were him.

"Hey Dyls," Connor says, Mitch taking the recently vacated seat so Connor can sit between them.

"Hi."

"Doin' okay?"

"Fine," Dylan says, tracing the scratch with a fingernail. Connor studies him for a few long seconds, eventually pulling out his phone. Dylan sighs in relief, but his phone buzzes in his pocket as soon as Connor slides his away.

_C: we can talk later?? ik ur upset_

_C: u can tell me anything u want, ill support u no matter what :)_

Dylan bites back a smile, but any traces of it vanish as Mitch sets a hand on Connor's forearm and begins to interrogate him on the rules of baseball, which. None of them know all that much, but Connor's probably the best one to ask if any confusion arises.

Dylan makes a new scratch next to the old one on the wooden counter, and the minutes fly by until Connor is shaking him back to the real world. "C'mon, buddy, time to go home," Connor says gently, hand squeezing Dylan's thigh. It takes all Dylan has to not flinch at its warmth.

"M'kay," he mumbles, following Mitch out with Connor's hand still hot on his back, even through his jacket.

"I'll call the Uber," Mitch offers, pushing a few buttons on his phone. "You guys wanna crash at my place, or..."

"I promised my mom I'd go visit her quick, so..." Connor says, trailing ofrom a bit guiltily.

Mitch turns to Dylan with a small look of hope, and really, Dylan has no excuse. He could spend the night in a hotel again, but why waste money when you could stay with someone else for free? And his parents - well, he saw them a few days ago, he doesn't need to stay with them.

The part of his brain somehow dedicated to Mitch disagrees with his excuses.

"Sure." Mitch shakes Dylan's shoulder happily, and they lapse into silence, Dylan listing heavily into Connor's side as the Uber pulls up.

"I'll take the backseat," Mitch offers immediately, crawling in the back of the van and giving Dylan a close-up of his ass. Dylan hates himself for looking, but also kinda hates himself for not taking a chance.

"Dude, you okay over there?" Mitch asks as Connor tells the driver his parents' address. "You're thinking so hard I can see it, don't hurt yourself." Mitch has his hand on the curve of Dylan's shoulder, and Dylan almost can't take it.

"Shut up."

"Dyls? Thinking? Marns, what did you put in his drink?" Connor laughs. "This is a new development, a true breakthrough in Dylan-mechanics, opening up for greater possibilities in analytics, communication, and-" Mitch is already cackling in the backseat, but Dylan just glowers and turns towards the window with a harsh,

"Fuck you both." The driver glances back at them through the rear view mirror, and Connor immediately pulls back.

"Sorry, Stromer - bud, you know I'm joking, right?"

"Yeah, whatever, it's fine," Dylan mutters, staring out the window. Connor wraps his fingers around Dylan's wrist, and they feel strangely searing hot as Connor says,

"The message?" Dylan shifts a bit in his seat, thinking for a moment. _Oh_. That message.

"Tomorrow," he answers; not with 100% convinction, but enough to convince Connor.

"Good," Connor says, shoulders slumping in relaxed relief. "Didn't wanna hurt my bestie." Dylan feels butterflies explode in his chest, and he bites his tongue to hold back from yelling with happiness about how much he loves Connor.

And yet.

He's still upset with Mitch for taking over the concerned fake boyfriend role. And especially the creepy dude for being all up in Connor's precious personal space. And Connor, just a little, about not giving him more attention.

What can Dylan say? He loves being loved, even if the love he has for Connor isn't reciprocated in the way he wants.

Once Connor bids his goodbyes, Mitch moves up to take his seat. "Geez, Davo has a hot ass," he comments, and Dylan turns to him with wide eyes.

"What the fuck."

"Like, this seat is so warm," Mitch says, pausing to give the driver his address before clarifying, "It's not _that_ way, you idiot."

"Not that way?" Dylan repeats, and Mitch's smile falters for the first time since he rescued Connor.

"That's weird how you assumed I was speaking of looks before you considered temperature." Mitch is looking straight at him, blue eyes glinting every time they pass a street light.

"Dirty minds," Dylan says with a shrug. He turns his head away from Mitch but keeps an eye on him. "You would've thought the same thing too."

"Not unless I was interested," Mitch says, and _woah_ there, this is not the place nor the time to discuss Dylan's Connor Problem.

"Shut up." Mitch is the one to pay and thank the driver as they get out, unlocking his door as Dylan trails behind him, stumbling every couple steps.

"You're in love with Davo," is the first thing out of Mitch's mouth once he locks the front door, and _hello_ , Dylan was not prepared for that. Well, expecting? Yes. Prepared for? Absolutely not.

"What." Dylan kicks off his shoes for lack of anything else to do, but Mitch shoves him against the wall and says in a low whisper,

"You love him, don't you?" Dylan swallows hard, staring into Mitch's eyes; his everything right up in Dylan's personal space.

"No?" Dylan says, and it comes out as a question instead of an affirmative statement. "No. No I don't. What the fuck?"

"You're a little obvious." And hey, Dylan is _not_. He says as much, but Mitch just shakes his head. "No, you really are. Davo is a lot stealthier than you are, but Dyls - Stromer - you're so fucking obvious."

"No."

"Dude, when are you _not_ staring at him?" Mitch counters. "You're always making googly heart eyes at him whenever I look at you."

"He's got amazing hockey," Dylan tries.

"He's not playing his gorgeous hockey off-ice," Mitch says. _Gorgeous_? Dylan thinks. _Of_ course _it's gorgeous, he's the best there is_. "Yo, bud, stay with me."

"I'm not in love, okay? There's not even a chance of anything with him even if I was, so-" There's a flash of something in Mitch's eyes as he narrows them suspiciously. "What?"

"We've gotten past this rival shit, haven't we?" Mitch asks, and Dylan wrinkles his eyebrows.

"Yeah, so?"

"We're buddies, friends-" He winces on the second word, and Dylan frowns deeply. Are they not friends? "You can tell me anything, you know. I won't judge."

"Why the hell are you bothering me about this?" Dylan asks instead of answering Mitch's open-ended statement. "It doesn't even matter."

"It does." Mitch takes a breath, catches himself, then finally asks, "So are you like, not straight?"

"Not the time," Dylan says in a strained voice, head swimming with crazy thoughts and memories.

"'Cause I thought you might, um, wanna know that I'm bi. So. Yeah." The whole atmosphere changes as Mitch takes a step back.

"Why would I wanna know?" Dylan is wary, folding his arms over his chest.

"Just to add fuel to your fire." _What_ fire?

"Are you and Auston-" Dylan asks in confusion, trailing off, but Mitch only blushes.

"Nah, he wouldn't take a chance on my sorry ass, I know him."

"Then who-"

"Doesn't matter." Mitch suddenly backs away from Dylan. "C'mon. You'll have to sleep on the pullout couch - I'm sorry we don't have an extra bed."

"'S fine," Dylan says, in a bit of a daze as Mitch rushes around on tiptoes.

"Here's some, uh, stuff," he says quickly, shoving several things in Dylan's hands before unfolding the couch and tugging a sheet over it. "Voilà. There's an extra toothbrush under the bathroom sink if you want it, I'm waking up at 7 tomorrow. G'night."

"'Night," he says weakly as Mitch hurries down the hallway and closes his door. In Dylan's arms are a pillow, a blanket, a bottle of water, and a pair of (what must be) Mitch's boxers and a Leafs t-shirt. How thoughtful.

• • •

The next morning, Mitch is up at 7 sharp as promised, shaking Dylan awake for a pre-breakfast run. "Abso-fucking-ly not," he grumbles, throwing the blanket over his face. "Go away."

"Connor said he'd join us and buy us breakfast," Mitch baits, and Dylan peeks at him from under the borrowed blanket.

"Likely story." Mitch sighs and tugs on the end of the blanket, Dylan squawking as he's fully exposed to the cool air. "Hey! Bitch."

"Breakfast with Davo," Mitch repeats. "C'mon, what part of that do you not want? Two hot things for one event."

Their conversation from the previous night rushes back to Dylan, and he sits up quickly, rubbing his bent knee as he stares at Mitch. "You're bi," he clarifies, unable to think of anything else at the current moment. Mitch laughs and nods, saying,

"If you'd gained anything from last night I hoped it'd be that." Dylan has always been rather out of the loop, but right now he _really_ doesn't know what's quite happening.

"You're into Davo?" Mitch stops smiling at that, looking mildly horrified, but mostly like a deer in the headlights.

"No! Uh-" He bites on his lower lip, and Dylan's eyes follow the motion when Mitch licks his lips nervously. "I mean, I can acknowledge his hotness, can't I? I don't have to be-"

"You told me you're bi," Dylan interrupts.

"Doesn't mean I'm into every single person ever."

"You don't call everyone hot." Mitch whines and tugs at his hair as Dylan sits up, staring at him.

"I don't - I'm not - no, stop, you don't understand, it's like - ugh," Mitch says through stutters and stops. "No. Just - no."

"Whatever you say, dude," Dylan says, and now it's Mitch looking uncomfortable as Dylan puts up his hands in surrender and gets to his feet. "I just want some food. No running."

"Put these on." Mitch jogs back to his room and gets a pair of Knights sweatpants to throw on.

"Are you-"

"Wear them," he insists. "I don't give a shit, and neither should you." Dylan grumbles about rivalries and traitors as he works the pants over his legs.

"Ready to go?" He finally says, unnecessarily knocking shoulders with Mitch in order to pass him. Mitch stands in one spot for several seconds, and when Dylan looks back while bending over to get his shoes, Mitch chokes and looks away.

"Yeah." His voice sounds a little strained as he grabs his keys, checks his phone, and follows Dylan outside. "We came when mom was asleep and we're leaving when she hasn't woken up. Hope she doesn't get freaked out by the messy couch."

"You ripped the blanket off me, it's your decision to leave it like that," Dylan says. Mitch rolls his eyes and relocks the door, throwing an arm over Dylan's shoulders as he leads them to his car. "What're you doing?"

"We're gonna have some buddy bonding time," Mitch says, back to his usual cheery self. "We're going on a run to get breakfast with Davo, then we're gonna go on an adventure."

"I don't like adventures," Dylan huffs, but Mitch only laughs.

"You'll like this one, I promise."

Dylan tells himself he won't.

• • •

"He tripped over someone's _dog_ ," Dylan laughs, and Mitch smacks his arm again.

"Shut _up_ already! I apologized and it's fine." Connor grins, looking between the two of them.

"That's great," he says, and Mitch rolls his eyes.

"No, it's not, so if you could get your boyfriend off my ass, that would be fantastic." Dylan chokes on his bagel as Connor's eyes go wide.

"Oh fuck off," Dylan says after a gulp of hot coffee, voice raspy. "I don't bug you about Matthews."

"He's not - we're not-" Mitch tries, but Dylan interrupts with,

"Exactly." Connor clears his throat after several seconds of silence and Mitch staring at Dylan in confusion.

"Anyway," Connor says loudly, sipping his coffee with both hands clutching the cup. "What're we doing today?"

"I have some things picked out," Mitch says, a mischievous grin on his face. Dylan sends Connor a blatant look of "oh fuck", and Connor winces in answer.

20 minutes later, Mitch had cajoled them into going clothes shopping with him, which Connor didn't really enjoy and Dylan hated. But oh well. It's Mitch. He can deal.

"Dude, orangey-red is so your color," Mitch tries, shoving a shirt at Dylan. "C'mon, please?"

"I'm not so sure about this," Connor says, coming out of the dressing room with a black plaid shirt that's a tad too small, but in the most attractive way. Dylan closely observes the way it clings to his biceps, sleeves rolled up a bit to expose his forearms.

"I like it," he blurts, and Connor frowns.

"Not really my style." Mitch sighs, dropping the shirt in Dylan's hands before going over to Connor and tugging on the bottom of the shirt.

"Wrong color?" He asks, studying Connor intently. Connor's cheeks flush pink, and he stutters out a random excuse as Dylan raises an eyebrow at him. "I found these, so you can try them on too." Mitch hands Connor a pair of blue jogger-sweatpants things as Dylan slides past them in to change his shirt.

He stares at himself in the mirror once he's slipped it on. Mitch was right, orangey-red kinda _is_ his color. And he's not even gonna ask how Mitch knew his size. He changes back out of it after taking a mirror selfie with it, coming back out to see Mitch with several more items in his hand.

"This isn't an adventure," he warns Mitch, "and it better not be the only thing we're doing today or I'm gonna be pissed."

"It's so fun," Mitch says with a blinding smile. "Don't know what your problem is." Dylan purses his lips, and Mitch adds, "You like the shirt?"

"It's okay." It's perfect, but there's no way in hell Dylan would admit that to him. No way.

"We're not getting it if it's just 'okay'."

"It's good." Mitch plants his hands on his hips like a mom, and okay, this whole situation is looking like Dylan and Connor are his grumpy kids who hate shopping but were taken anyway. "I like it, okay? It fits, it's a nice color, it's good."

"Do these look okay?" Connor asks suddenly, and they look over to see the tight pants curving perfectly over his thighs and ass. In completely unrelated news, Dylan randomly forgets how to breathe. Mitch grins as Connor bites his lower lip, nodding approvingly and coming over to examine them more closely.

Connor's not stupid, Dylan realizes, as Mitch makes a comment and winks at Connor. Dylan would've missed it if he'd been staring at Connor's ass, but luckily he'd been able to control himself and actually breathe. But anyway.

Connor knows exactly how the pants look on him, knows that they'd like it. He _knows_. He just wanted confirmation.

Show-off.

"Anything else you have for me?" Dylan asks Mitch innocently, and multiple pairs of skinny jeans are thrown at him. "Fantastic." Dylan is about to close the changing room door when a hand tugs on it, and Connor slips in behind him.

"Do you like them?" Dylan is pinned up against the door, a perfect view of their reflection from the floor-length mirror. Perfect view of Connor's ass in those stupid tight pants.

"Like what?"

"Don't be stupid," Connor mutters, his entire body pressed to Dylan's as he tries to think of a proper response.

"Yeah," he breathes, "they're okay." Connor licks his lips, eyes boring into Dylan's as if he's looking for something. Dylan can't move, but it's not like he couldn't shove Connor off if he wanted to. He just - doesn't really want to.

"Dylan," Connor says on an exhale, and suddenly Dylan's brain flicks on a light. He pushes Connor away from him, feeling regretful as Connor's face falls and he shrinks back into his figurative turtle shell.

Dylan blew the only chance he'll probably ever get.

"I can't-" is all he can say, and Connor quickly pushes past him to get back to Mitch, murmuring "sorry" over and over the whole way out. Dylan can hear him playfully scolding Connor for not taking off the ridiculous pants - you picked those out for a reason, Mitch, don't pretend you don't like them - and Connor's excuse that he likes the way they feel. Yeah, right.

"Then take them off so we can buy them," Mitch exclaims, and Connor sighs audibly.

"Anything else for me to try on?" There's a rustling noise, and Connor asks, "Tight pants?"

"Maybe..." Mitch's response is coy, and Dylan can picture his expression, pretending to be all innocent. He's full of shit. "Yo! Stromer!"

"Wait two seconds, geez," Dylan mutters, awkwardly sticking his legs into the pants and trying not to fall over. "God, chill _out_."

Dylan studies himself in the mirror once more, slipping his regular shirt back on and admiring how the jeans aren't abrasive, yet stick to him like a glove. Yet again, a perfect fit.

Mitch is also an asshole.

"I like these too," Dylan says, tossing the shirt and jeans at Mitch when he emerges. "Buy all this shit and get on with the 'adventure'."

"Not getting it if you call it shit," Mitch says, and Dylan keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Mitch's face when Connor comes back from changing pants.

" _Let's go_ ," Dylan emphasizes, and Mitch rolls his eyes but gathers the clothes up in his arms anyway. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Mitch sasses back, "My pleasure." _Pleasure, my ass_ , Dylan thinks grumpily. Then -  _literally, my ass. And Davo's._

• • •

Their next locations are slightly more interesting, seeing as Dylan is hungry again and it's not time for lunch. "Pinkberry," Mitch announces, "And Davo's paying." Connor's weak protests do jack shit to convince him otherwise. "Hey, I bought all your expensive-ass clothes. Shut up and pay up."

"You took us there against our wills," Connor says, but Mitch isn't having it.

"Hope you remembered your wallet."

Their next step, close to 11 am, is the roller rink.

"No," Dylan says immediately. "Nope."

"Yes," Mitch smirks. "C'mon, I'll even hold your hand if you can't do it." Dylan sends him a death glare.

"That's comforting."

"Aren't I so sweet?"

"Yeah, whatever, you won't be sweet until you pay for us," Connor interjects. Mitch looks taken aback.

"Me? Pay for this too? Not my job." He pointedly looks at Dylan, who was hoping he'd get off the hook.

"I was unaware this would involve spending money," He hisses a few minutes later as they tie the laces to their skates. "Also, you're icing all my bruises I get from this stupid adventure."

"Worth it," Mitch says proudly, standing up. "Let's go, Davo, how long's it been since you've been on these?"

"Too long." Connor barely stops himself from falling the second he stands up, arms flailing as he crashes into Mitch.

"Good start, technique is lacking, needs some real training," Mitch comments with an attempted look of seriousness on his face. It lasts about five seconds before he bursts out laughing and pushes Connor away.

"One thing I'm better at than you, Davo," Dylan calls, watching from a few feet away. Connor purses his lips and waits for Dylan to make his way over.

"Don't put yourself down like that. I'm not perfect, not at all - not at _anything_ , really."

"The media has humbled you," Mitch says wisely, coming up behind them and peeking over Connor's shoulder. "Stop standing around and do something already, lazy." He shoves Connor away from the wall, who curses but skates on, miraculously without falling on his face.

"Look who's lazy now," Connor calls over his shoulder, and Mitch sets his jaw.

"Oh, it's _on_." As he starts, Dylan elbows him in the gut and speeds away, leaving Mitch yelling at him, too. Fun times.

• • •

"Still need to crash at my place?" Mitch asks on their way home from the wild Blue Jays game that Mitch had been apparently planning for them to go to for weeks. He mobile ordered delivery Chinese food the moment they left the stadium, and Dylan desperately hopes it'll be there by the time they arrive.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Mom said she can get out the air mattress for you if you want?" Dylan nods in approval, thumbs hovering over his keyboard as he follows Mitch.

"Tell her I said thanks."

"You can tell her, she doesn't go to bed at 6," Mitch says. "Watch where you're going."

"Whatever."

"Watch out!" He yells suddenly, and Dylan jerks his head up as he stumbles to the side.

"What?" Mitch is laughing, though, and Dylan makes a noise of frustration. "I hate you."

"No you don't, lil Stromer, I'm you're favorite."

"I'm taller than you, and you're not my favorite," Dylan says.

"Is that who you're texting?" Mitch prompts. "Your favorite person ever, aka Connor McJesus, aka Super Nice Ass, aka The Next Gretzky, aka King of Awkward, aka your boyfriend-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Dylan complains loudly, swinging lazily at Mitch. "He's none of those things - except McJesus, I guess."

"Not your boyfriend yet? _Still_?"

"He wasn't yesterday, not much changes in one day."

"But it could," Mitch says, spinning around and walking backwards in front of Dylan. "For instance."

"Can we _please_ get an Uber or something?" Dylan interjects.

"We're here, dumbass," Mitch says, pointing to his house and continuing, "For example. Yesterday, I didn't do this." He spins around, falls in step with Dylan, and reaches out to grab his hand. Dylan tries to pull away, face flaming, but Mitch laces their fingers together with a smile.

"What are you doing?" He gets out.

"Holding your hand."

"No shit - but like-"

"Wait a sec," Mitch says, climbing the two stairs to his deck. "I'm trying to seduce you, can't you tell?" With that new information, Dylan is frozen in his spot near the door. Mitch goes in for the kill, brushing a kiss along Dylan's cheek. "Is it working?"

"Fuck you."

"Going a little fast there, but my methods seem to be working," he grins.

"Your methods are shit," Dylan says, fingers touching his face. "Fuck _you_."

"You're welcome to anytime." Oh. _Oh_. Shit. Dylan missed that the first time around.

"Uh," he says intelligently, and Mitch just winks as he releases Dylan's hand, opens the door, and slips inside. What the _fuck_ is happening?

Mitch doesn't mention it over dinner - doesn't even hint at it, minus a flirty wink here or there. Dylan attempts to talk to his mother while Mitch plays Halo in the next room, Dylan offering to clean the dishes since they don't have a dishwasher.

"You're such a nice boy," she says fondly. "If only you could impress yourself on Mitchy...maybe he'd clean up and eat his veggies once in a while."

"I heard that, mom!" Mitch yells, and Dylan laughs.

"I love you, dear, but you're not perfect!"

"Thanks a lot." Dylan grins at her as she laughs, and maybe staying here isn't so bad after all.

• • •

The first words that come out of Dylan's mouth come morning aren't even really words - and it's hardly even morning. The sun isn't up yet, he didn't set an alarm, so why-

A body shifts on his left, and he bolts upright and stares wide-eyed at a curled up Mitch snoring beside him. "What. The fuck. Are you doing?" He shakes Mitch, unable to think of when this development happened. "Get your ass out of my bed."

"Kiss me," Mitch mumbles, rolling to face Dylan with eyes still closed. "Kiss me, baby."

"Wake _up_." Mitch doesn't respond, only reaching out blindly and latching onto Dylan's hand, planting kisses all over his palm and wrist. Dylan feels a flush creep up his cheeks at the gentle, sweet attention being paid to every inch of skin, feeling himself start to get hard in his pants. _Just from the kisses? God, Dylan, you're so far gone. Lame-o_. "Stop it, wake up, Marns, c'mon."

Mitch whines when Dylan pulls away, Dylan rolling over and turning so his back is to him. "Come back, baby, I want kisses." He makes smooching sounds, and this is _not_ what Dylan signed up for.

"Wake the fuck up!" Dylan says as loud as he dares, doing measurements in his head and kicking Mitch's shin with his heel. Mitch yelps, and soon his breathing quickens as he realizes where he is.

"How-"

"I dunno how, but you should probably leave right about now," Dylan says gruffly. "I want a few more hours of sleeping alone, thank you very much."

"Dylan." There's something weird in his voice that Dylan has hardly ever, maybe  _never_ heard before, so he squirms around until they're face to face.

"Mm?"

"Kiss me." It's so much different now that he sees awake, but exactly the same all at once. It's still Mitch, with his big blue eyes and massive smile and stupid sense of humor and quickness and easygoing attitude. But at the same time, it's a whole different Mitch.

This one is different than Dylan is used to, one that is nervous and eager to please, teeth chewing at his lips and eyes shining in the darkness. Energy buzzes around him, almost creating a glowing aura in his space; in Dylan's space.

This is a side of Mitch that Dylan could easily get used to. So, without a word of protest, he kisses him.

Mitch immediately gives up his control, hands squeezing the sides of Dylan's neck, then moving up to his cheeks as they tentatively explore each other's mouths. He moans lowly when Dylan tugs on his lip with his teeth, then sucking on his tongue as the vibrations move from chest to chest.

Dylan's mind has been officially blown by the time he has the urgent need of air. Mitch presses his body right up against his, looking up at him through his eyelashes. "Not too bad, Stromer."

Dylan just leans in and kisses him again, no longer being hesitant with his lips sliding over Mitch's, little whines sounding too loud in the dark living room. He rolls and pins Mitch down, fingers loosely curled around his wrists as he continues to ravage his mouth. Mitch spreads his legs just a bit, noticeable enough that Dylan thinks it's just for show. That is, until Dylan bites at Mitch's neck and he bucks his hips up with a gasp.

"Fuck," Dylan pants, looking down in the dim lighting at Mitch's blown pupils, mouth probably red and glistening from Dylan. Dylan did that. Mitch pushes up his hips again with a whine, and yeah - Dylan did that too.

"Yeah," he agrees on an exhale, and at that moment, Dylan forgets that they were ever rivals, forgets that he used to hate Mitch, forgets he had trouble talking to him whenever they'd both meet up with Connor. The only thing that matters is Mitch's lean body below him, desperate and restless because of _him_. Mitch wanting him more than anything, no matter what.

This is what Dylan lives for.

It doesn't take much to bring Mitch over the edge, even though it's simply from grinding against Dylan's thigh and kissing the life out of him, and Dylan isn't far behind. Dylan collapses on top of him, mouthing lazily at his neck and sucking until there most definitely will be a bruise. Mitch whines, pushes him off, and gives him a matching one right below his collarbone. It's not lost on Dylan that it's on the same side that Connor broke his, but. Who knows.

Mitch has his own plans, Dylan thinks absently as Mitch bites at another hickey under his jaw, soon falling asleep half on top of him, legs tangled at 20 past 2.

• • •

The next day is supposed to be their longest one, Mitch waking Dylan up at 7 again and promising that they'll be up near midnight. Dylan is mildly worried, but Mitch plants a firm kiss on his lips in reminder of what they'd done the previous night. It also helps Dylan remember the mess in his shorts, and Mitch helpfully runs and brings him new ones, promising that he'd do the wash just this once.

They meet up with Connor and, as promised, are out all day long doing anything and everything Mitch can think of. Dylan doesn't mind this time, but maybe it's because he made out with Mitch and is still floating in the bliss of coming for the first time in weeks.

That's a lie. Just - it's the first time in a long while he's been with someone else. And that someone was _Mitch_. Woah.

Connor notices immediately that Dylan is different, because of course he does. You can't spend years attached at the hip with someone and not pick up on everything. He also doesn't miss the bright red mark under his jaw in the shape of Mitch's mouth. Dylan half wishes he wore a thick scarf to hide it.

"What's up with you guys?" Connor mutters in Dylan's ear the second Mitch is out of earshot, the three walking down a busy street. "Did you, you know."

"Fuck him? No," Dylan says, a little too bitterly. Connor is taken aback, and Dylan swallows a bit, suddenly worried. "What? Jealous?" The words fall out of his mouth without a single thought, and he tries to take it back. "I mean, not that-"

"Yeah," Connor says lowly. Dylan's eyes widen in surprise.

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah, I am." He leans in closer to Dylan, who stops walking at the touch of Connor's lips to the shell of his ear. "So. What're you gonna do about it?"

Dylan shivers, and Connor brushes his hand down Dylan's spine. "Come stay with me tonight."

"Okay." Like he would ever say no to Connor. Like he _could_.

He's just a little screwed.

• • •

He's screwed literally as well as figuratively, exhaling sharply as Connor pushes him to the inside of the door of his hotel room and tugs down his pants. "Okay?" He asks, and okay, there is _no_ fucking way Dylan would ever refuse this, even if the world was ending outside. There's nothing better than this, and it's already the hottest thing Dylan has ever seen.

"Please." The word comes out choked, and Connor grins before wasting no time, sinking his mouth down over his cock. Dylan can't help but wonder briefly how Connor practiced - well, on who, to be more accurate. It's a proven fact that deepthroating is close to impossible the first time it's done (Dylan has a bit of experience), yet down, down Connor goes until Dylan's scrabbling at the wood of the door and begging Connor earnestly to let him come.

Connor, being a generous lover (or whatever he is at the moment) grants Dylan's wishes and pulls back from where he'd been graciously letting Dylan fuck his throat. It only takes a few flicks of his tongue over the head before Dylan coats Connor's mouth, cheeks, and chin with jizz, slumping against the door and praying his knees don't give out.

"Fuck," he says, heart racing as he looks down at Connor. He looks positively filthy, yet his eyes are wide and innocent as he licks his lips, tasting Dylan and groaning softly. "Come here, _God_ , you're amazing."

Connor lets out another moan, this one sounding whiny as he quickly stands up, reaching into his pants as Dylan leans in to kiss him. He can taste himself in Connor's mouth, tongue delving deep into his mouth as Connor jerks himself fast and tight.

He breathes soft noises and grunts into Dylan's languid kisses, coming when Dylan grabs at his ass and digs in his fingernails. His mouth goes slack, Dylan's teeth lightly biting at his lower lip, and he rests his forehead on Dylan's chest as he recovers.

"I wanna tell Mitch," is the first thing out of Dylan's mouth. Connor doesn't look up at him.

"You want him." It's not a question.

"You do too." A pause. "But you - I definitely want you too. Always have."

"You have me," Connor murmurs, and if they weren't half naked in his hotel room covered in jizz, it would almost be romantic.

• • •

It's their last day before Connor has to report back to Edmonton, so Mitch is determined to make it as memorable as possible, making an entire plan to be followed precisely. That is, until he hears what Dylan tells him at their first activity of the day, pressed up close behind him and murmured against the shell of his ear.

"Can you imagine what Davo looks like on his knees?" Dylan whispers, Mitch standing between them in line. Connor's wearing the joggers Mitch bought him, and there's no doubt that they're intended to make mouths water - more specifically, Dylan's and Mitch's. Sneaky little bastard. Connor isn't nearly as innocent as many make him out to be.

"Yeah," Mitch replies softly, taking a small step forward.

"He can go all the way down, you can fuck his throat; anything you want. He let me come on his face, then swallowed it. He'd let you do it too, I know."

"You think?" Mitch's voice is strained, and Dylan bets ten bucks that if he pressed his hand to the front of Mitch's jeans, he'd be hard.

"Oh yeah. He'd do it for you, do probably anything. He's kind of gone on us." Mitch bites hard on his lip as Dylan continues, "Sucking dick turns him on, so the longer he draws it out, the more desperate he'll be when you finally get to him."

"Fuck, Stromer, you can't just _say_ these things," Mitch whines a bit too loudly, and Connor turns around as Dylan breathes,

"You should fuck him while I watch. He's so good to watch; always a considerate lover." He leans back and looks away, hands behind his back as he stares into the distance. Connor raises an eyebrow, and Mitch lets out a noise of frustration.

"I hate you," he growls, pulling out his phone and checking the time. Dylan feels his phone beep repeatedly, and sees that he's been tagged in both Connor's and Mitch's most recent Instagram posts. They're from the baseball game, and Dylan licks his lips as he reads the captions carefully.

**@mcdavid97: Great day for a game - what a win @bluejays, thanks for the foul ball. #myboys #gojays**

**@marner_93: Big ballin' with the big boys. #saturdaysarefortheboys #bluejays**

"Fuck you," he says to Mitch, a little too much affection in his voice. He comments "losers haha" on Mitch's photo and a heart-eyes emoji on Connor's.

"Hey! Rude," Mitch says when he gets the notification, sounding slightly less strained but not entirely recovered.

"What are we even waiting for, anyway?" Dylan asks to distract him, and sure enough, Mitch launches into an information-filled rant about the importance of aquariums and zoos in local communities. Connor turns and rolls his eyes at Dylan, who only snickers and crosses his arms as Mitch waves his around excitedly.

"Sharks, dude!" He exclaims as they finally reach the front of the line. "Sharks are so fucking dope!"

"Except when they bite off your arm," Connor says dryly, and Mitch flicks him in the forehead.

"Get that shitty attitude off my lawn, Davo, or I'll - hey, sorry, how are you today?" Dylan can't hold back laughter as Mitch makes small talk with the ticket lady. Connor leans on Dylan just the slightest bit, smiling up at him. His hair glows from the sunlight shining down on him, casting his face in an angelic glow as he blushes the smallest bit.

"You and me, eh?" Dylan says on instinct, and Connor nods eagerly, the two of them following Mitch in to see the lions.

• • •

That evening, when the three of them are crowded around a small table at a local pub, Connor finally mentions what's been on all three of their minds. Connor knows what Dylan did with Mitch, and Mitch knows - yeah, all that good stuff. Dylan kisses and tells, what else can he say?

However, Connor picks the moment that Mitch escapes to answer a phone call to bring it up. They've been hanging out for weeks, first at hotels, then all separate, then Dylan in Mitch's house and Connor in his now-single hotel room. This is the first time it's been spoken outside of dimly lit rooms way past bedtime.

"You and me, eh?" He reaches across the table and sets his hands on Dylan's, pinky stroking over the skin on his wrist.

"Where is he?" Connor knows he's not referring to Mitch's current location.

"I mean, I like him a lot, but I like you a lot, so..." Dylan trails off, then rushing out, "And I dunno how we'd do it when we're all hundreds of miles apart - how the fuck-"

"I think you can make it work," Connor interrupts, eyes looking soft and expression sincere. " _We_ can make it work. And if he doesn't work out with us - well, we can try again, and if not, we can do just us. Or." He squeezes Dylan's hand. "Whatever you want, Dyls. That's what I want."

Mitch returns as Dylan's staring into Connor's eyes, grasping tightly to his hand. "I miss something?"

"I love you," Dylan blurts, blushing instantly. Mitch looks taken aback, looking to Connor in confusion.

"So you're not-"

"We are," Connor clarifies. "But we wanna do it with you." He glances back to Dylan, who's looking as soft and loving as a little bunny. Bad comparison, but accurate, nonetheless.

"I love you guys too," Mitch says, and it looks like it's taking all of his self-control in order to not yell it to the entire population of Toronto. "So fucking much, oh my god, I thought I'd have to choose, and then I'd make you guys choose, and it would just turn out bad 'cause we'd be so far apart and-"

"Shh," Dylan says, a blissed look on his face. "Shush. It'll be fine. You don't have to choose." Mitch looks about to weep from joy, and Dylan feels pretty close to that.

"I love you both," Connor says softly, just before their waitress delivers a plate of nachos. "And nachos. Can't forget nachos."

"I'm eating the cheese-less ones," Dylan says immediately, letting go of Connor and grabbing as many as possible. Mitch giggles and tosses the cheesiest chip he can find at Dylan.

"Eat up."

"Fuck you."

"I can arrange that." Dylan bites his lip, but Mitch just winks as Connor chuckles, crunching on a cheese and salsa-covered chip as he sneaks an identical one onto Dylan's plate.

God, they can be annoying, but Dylan wouldn't trade his boys for anything else.

• • •

**@dylstrome19: Nachos are for the boys. #nocheese #summervaca #isitoctoberyet #mybois4eva**

**Author's Note:**

> I took the prompt and ran about a marathon too far with it. Oops. Here's 7k+ of these three.


End file.
